


she’s back

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Fem!Crowley, M/M, gender bending, ineffable husband and wife, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: Crowley struggles to put a look together for a night out. Perhaps it’s not the clothes that need to change, but the body...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Female Crowley
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 15
Kudos: 146





	she’s back

A heap of black clothing had collected on the floor outside of Crowley’s wardrobe, and Aziraphale sighed. His husband could be _such_ a snake sometimes, shedding his skin and leaving it wherever he pleased. Aziraphale leaned in the doorway of Crowley’s walk-in and said, “Everything all right, dear?”

“I’m okay,” came the reply, “I just can’t decide what to bloody wear!”

“Well, what about your usual? The black thing, with the black thing on the black thing...”

Crowley emerged from behind a closet door, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a withering look on his face. “That’s the problem, Angel. They’re all black things.”

“I don’t understand why you’re fussing about like this. A quick miracle and you could change the colours,” said Aziraphale reasonably. He was already fully dressed, a crisp cream dinner jacket and matching trousers with a dark-blue waistcoat that caught the eye. New clothes for a new man, which was exactly what Aziraphale felt like now that he no longer worked for Heaven.

“I don’t look better in any colours.” 

“You look good in all the colours. But if you insist. Why not this one?” Aziraphale pulled a silk shirt from its rack and handed it to Crowley, who took one look and sniffed disdainfully.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “If you’ll be like that about your clothes, why bother keeping them?”

Crowley ignored him, went back to rummaging in a drawer. “I just need a bit of time, okay? Just trying to put something special together— we haven’t done the theatre in so long—“

“You usually wear the same thing to to theatre,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Yeah, but this is different. You know this is different.” He turned and looked at Aziraphale and gave him an affectionate half-smile. “You had something to do with it, after all.”

Since leaving the employ of their respective head offices, Aziraphale and Crowley had turned into something of freelancers lately, specialists in aiding and tempting humanity as the opportunities presented themselves. And without the old policies to abide by (not that they had done much abiding anyway) the opportunities presented themselves quite regularly indeed. Recently Aziraphale had found himself in a position to assist two struggling playwrights in getting their production off the ground. Thanks to some divine (and devilish) intervention, that production soon found itself on its first-ever West End run. Tonight was opening night, and of course one of the guests of honour had to be the enigmatic, supportive, sweet and enthusiastically involved Mr. Fell, who had been, to the two playwrights, more than a benefactor, but a good luck charm.

“I think my favourite part about all this was watching you find those struggling actors and guiding them toward the auditions,” Crowley said, ducking into the closet again. “Gave a lot of people some big breaks, I can tell you that.”

“Yes, dear. And you can meet all of them formally tonight...that is, if we aren’t late,” admonished Aziraphale.

Crowley pouted. “This is harder than it looks, Aziraphale.“

The angel merely sighed and said, “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Aziraphale found an armchair, of which there was an abundance in their messy, airy, plant-filled little cottage, and a nearby book that just appeared when he needed it, and settled down, knowing it could take some time. The show didn’t start for another four or five hours, but there was the drive down to London, and of course Aziraphale wished to mingle with the humans before the play started...there’d be drinks and nibbles and all sorts of lovely people to speak to. He did hope that Crowley would behave himself with their new friends.

Inside the wardrobe, the demon was stomping about and swearing under his breath. Nothing to wear, he thought— well, too many things to wear, in fact, it was hard to choose. It was usual of Crowley to go for something subtle, something that allowed him to blend in with the humans, and if he wished to attract attention, well, he’d just let his unmistakable charisma shine out. But tonight felt different. Tonight he felt like playing around, in a subtle way as well, but also in a way that would be a little more exciting for both him and Aziraphale...

Crowley poked his head out of the wardrobe, “Your friends, do they know you’re married?”

“Er, we never spoke much about our personal lives, but certainly they’ve noticed this,” said Aziraphale, waggling the fingers of his left hand. The golden band around his ring finger was prominent. “And I _was_ given two tickets. So...”

“Right,” said Crowley swiftly, “that was all I needed to know. Thanks!” And he vanished again.

Another thirty minutes or so passed, and before he could get truly engrossed in his reading Aziraphale checked his pocket watch. They’d be late, unless Crowley decided to stop time again, which would take up a lot of energy that he was going to need for tonight—

The sound of footsteps made Aziraphale look up. “Finally!” It took him a moment to realise that wasn’t the sound of Crowley’s usual snakeskin boots, but the click of high heels. And as Aziraphale’s gaze traveled upward to look at Crowley as he emerged, he found himself staring at a woman he hadn’t seen in years.

“Why,” grinned Aziraphale, “welcome back, Miss Ashtoreth.”

Crowley smiled back, and it was just as ravishing as ever. “What do you think?” she asked, turning on the spot. This version of Crowley’s body was still tall and skinny, but the sharp angles had smoothed into narrow curves. The facial features were certainly more feminine, the hair longer and swept into an elegant undo, and the lips were fuller— painted that delightfully outrageous shade of lavender she’d always liked. She wore a sleek, floor-length gown that hugged her outline perfectly, the material shimmery and supple and coloured something between purple and dark blue and black over subtle shades of green and pink and gold— a lot like a nebula, really, when it caught the light as Crowley turned and cocked her hips.

“Darling, you look amazing,” crooned Aziraphale. “And you finally figured out something to wear.”

“Figured it wasn’t the clothes that needed changing, it was the body.” She winked. “I also figured since the theatre chaps don’t know whether you’re married to a man or a woman, I could play around for a bit.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I am loving this. Truly, I am.”

“One last thing.” She turned all the way so that her back was facing Aziraphale. “D’you mind?”

“This won’t take but a small miracle,” said Aziraphale, but he reached for the open zipper anyway.

Crowley smiled. “But it’s more fun this way, don’t you think?“

“Temptress.”

“What? I missed this body,” Crowley teased. “You know, it’s occurred to me you never really did get your hands on it, all those years at the Dowlings’.” 

“That would have hardly been professional.” Aziraphale finished doing up the zipper. He put his hands on Crowley’s waist to turn her to face him again, not that she needed the guidance. And for good measure, he tucked a stray lock of dark red hair behind her ear. _Gorgeous,_ he thought, entirely smitten all over again, _in any way, shape and form._

“It’s really okay, isn’t it?”

There was something a little insecure in her voice. Aziraphale barely caught it; Crowley almost never sounded like that.

“What? Of course it is,” said Aziraphale. “You’re perfect no matter what shape you’re in, dearest. Is this something you prefer?” 

Crowley shrugged, blinked yellow eyes framed by stunning touches of red and gold makeup. “Not usually. Most of the time I like the other body. But tonight this feels...right. I kinda missed it.”

“If you’re happy, then I’m delighted,” Aziraphale declared.

Crowley beamed. She drifted toward the doorway, and her saunter was just as fascinating to watch in this body as it was in the other. “Come now, Mr. Fell. Time for us to get to the theatre and shake many congratulating hands and drink extraordinary amounts of alcohol, and you can show off your gorgeous wife to all your respectable associates.”

“And what shall we call you tonight, then?” asked Aziraphale, taking her hand like they were about to dance a waltz. “Will Crowley still be suitable?”

“Mmm.” Crowley put on her sunglasses. “Maybe I could introduce myself as...Antonia?”

“Antonia Fell,” Aziraphale said, getting used to the name just as he was getting used to the face. “Elegant. Old-fashioned. Exotic. A bit like a Bond heroine, in fact.”

Crowley- Antonia- batted her eyelids at that. “If you say so. Does that make you Mr. Bond then?”

Aziraphale chuckled shyly. “I— well, of all the noble and debonair literary characters to grace the page, I do think Bond would be the last person I could possibly be likened to.”

“No, you’re right. Bet James Bond wishes he were you.” And with a mischievous cackle she took the angel by the arm and swung them out of the cottage.

Even in her skirt and heels, Crowley still handled the Bentley just as well as ever, and drove them at exhilarating speed down the quiet country lanes and up the busy freeways back to London— arriving at next to no time with the help of another demonic miracle (and a supporting angelic one, ensuring that nobody was harmed in their passing.) Aziraphale’s friends in the theatre company were quite delighted to see him again, and equally delighted to make the acquaintance of his charming wife. Antonia Fell was introduced to the two playwrights who had found themselves worthy of an angel’s benediction. Her exquisite dress received many compliments, as did her general appearance; Aziraphale distinctly heard one of the younger cast members say “I’ll be lucky to look half as good when I get to her age!”

Antonia herself seemed rather surprised at the positive attention she was getting. Whenever her male appearance was being admired, it was from afar, and quietly, and certainly few ever dared to remark on how good-looking he was to his face. That was what Crowley was used to. But the way the world interacted with Antonia Fell— the way Antonia came to interact with the world, bold and vivacious all of a sudden— was different.

They sat side by side in the dimness of the theatre, and Aziraphale held Antonia’s hand throughout the show. It was softer and more dainty than he was used to, although her grip remained as gentle and possessive as ever. Every so often Aziraphale would press those delicate knuckles to his lips. It was almost a ritual for him, developed after years of going to the theatre with Crowley. They had come a long way from sitting in theatres pretending they weren’t friends, an ocean in the mere inches between them.

At the after-party there was indeed much shaking of hands and drinking of alcohol, and the company was congratulated over and over on their remarkable success. Their generous supporters were acknowledged— glasses were raised to Mr. Fell, which made Aziraphale blush furiously. (He couldn’t, not ever, remember being appreciated like this before, certainly not in Heaven.) He even found himself unexpectedly buried underneath a group hug from the grateful cast.

From under the tangle of arms and laughter Aziraphale caught sight of Antonia beaming at him proudly, champagne glass in hand.

The night went on gaily, though eventually, even the stunning Antonia’s vivacity wore out. Aziraphale knew it was time to leave when he noticed she’d gone reserved and quiet, pressing close to him and nuzzling gently. “Ready to go, darling?” was all he said, and she nodded. 

And so Mr. and Mrs. Fell said their goodbyes, and took their leave. 

* * *

Once they got home, however, it was clear that Crowley was not quite finished with this body yet.

“Still holding on to it?” chuckled Aziraphale. He set down two cups of tea for them to wind down with, watched Crowley turn slowly in front of the full-length mirror and scrutinise every inch of herself.

“Can’t a demon admire herself while she can?” said Crowley. She felt Aziraphale come up behind her, place gentle hands on either side of her waist. A soft kiss found its way to the back of her slender neck.

“You know, you aren’t Cinderella at the ball. Things don’t have to go back to the way they were once the clock strikes twelve,” Aziraphale assured gently. “It’s your body. You can have it for as long or as often as you like.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

Crowley turned her head to look at him, “I know Upstairs might not have been as loose with how you, er, make adjustments to the bodies they give you, but did you ever, I don’t know, think of changing? I mean, would you, if you could?”

That gave Aziraphale something to think about. He frowned. “It’s never occurred to me,” he admitted. “That said, I don’t think I would. And I know this isn’t perfect,” Aziraphale added with a chuckle, gesturing at his plump, sturdy build, “but I’m used to it. Couldn’t imagine myself any other way. And I _do_ like it.”

Crowley ran her gaze over Aziraphale’s outline. He was perfect, as far as she was concerned— perfect in the way that he stayed the same, no matter how many years he’d been on Earth. Confident in himself without having to change. “I do, too,” she said softly.

“You see, that right there is one of the reasons why I like it,” grinned Aziraphale.

“And me? Are you okay that I keep changing?”

A zoetrope of memories played in Aziraphale’s mind, bringing to life every version of Crowley he could recall over six thousand years. He couldn’t remember not loving each one of them. “Of course it’s okay. It’s who you are.” He kissed her forehead gently. “I’m rather hopeless when it comes to you, my dear. Every time you changed was just another good reason to fall in love with you, all over again.”

“I only did this tonight because I couldn’t find anything to wear,” chuckled Crowley. “But I kind of like the way people look at me when I look like this.” She reached up to unfasten the pins in her hair, letting fiery locks spill over her fair shoulders. “Nobody looks at Anthony the way they look at Antonia.” Crowley grinned wickedly. “Nobody knows they’re the same damn person.”

“Humans can be so easily fooled by appearances, especially when it comes to their perception of gender,” said Aziraphale in that calm, logical way of his. He wrapped Crowley in his arms. “But I look at you no matter what skin you’re in, and I always see the same thing.”

“A foul, wicked fiend?” teased Crowley.

Aziraphale smirked. “The love of my life,” he corrected.

Crowley was surprised that she didn’t melt into a soppy puddle right then and there, when Aziraphale leaned in to kiss her cheek and run his fingers through her hair. He turned away, but Crowley put a hand on his arm.

“Aziraphale?” Her glasses were off, folded and clipped to the low neckline of her dress, and her golden eyes were bright as stars. “I was thinking. I want us to try it, like this. The two of us. Me, in this body. Yes?”

Aziraphale didn’t need to ask for more clarification on what Crowley was proposing. “Well, I- I suppose if that’s what you want.”

“I’m more curious, really.” Crowley said. “Aren’t you curious?”

A soft exhale, a shy admission. “To be honest? I rather am.”

That was all Crowley needed. She gave Aziraphale a sly grin and turned around again, once more inveigling him yet again into helping with the back zipper. Down, not up this time. “Oh good lord,” Aziraphale said, flustered, as Crowley turned and slipped the gorgeous dress off in a decadent, watercolour cascade. “It’s— it’s rather like the first time again, isn’t it?”

“Sort of, but weren’t you _oh so confident_ and in control the first time we did make love?” laughed Crowley. “Which was just as well, since I was far too stunned to do anything...I couldn’t believe my good luck that it was finally happening.” She started kissing on him, shedding the new jacket and waistcoat with practiced hands. “Well, don’t just stand here, love. Aren’t we going to take advantage of _these girls_ before I change my mind again?” Crowley pressed her soft bosom against Aziraphale’s chest, and the surprised noise he made was utterly _scandalous_.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered, reaching up to undo Crowley’s bra. It was the type that clasped in the front, but Aziraphale never for the life of him had to even think about taking off somebody’s bra before. “Oh, this is tricky, isn’t it?”

With an impatient whine Crowley snapped her fingers, a quick upward motion, and the bra didn’t just come off; it vanished entirely. “There.”

It had always been rather easy to lift Crowley; to hoist his male corporation onto desks or counters or the hood of the Bentley (and oh had Aziraphale done that _so many times_ ), but holding her much lighter female corporation was effortless. She wrapped arms and legs around Aziraphale and he never once dropped her, not even with the allure of her kiss driving him to distraction. They made it somehow, in a tangle of half-removed clothing, to their bedroom. “Could you tell me what you want, love?” Aziraphale murmured, giddy and lightheaded in a way only Crowley’s kiss could make him. “Could you guide me? It’s like it’s the first time again, so I’ll need to know...what makes you feel good, in this shape...”

“Why, I’m not sure, Angel.” Crowley’s words were muffled as her hand rubbed up and down the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “I haven’t exactly done it before. Like this. I don’t think I know _what_ I want.” Seeing Aziraphale’s uncertain expression, she blurted out, “I can change back, if it’s easier? If that’s what you’re used to?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that, my dear,” Aziraphale said quickly.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Yes, but I do know it takes some time, and quite honestly, I don’t think I could wait any longer.”

She cackled with glee. “Excited, are we? Oh, yes. I can _feel_ how excited you are, right here,” Crowley added, rolling her hips mischievously. Aziraphale was growing hard underneath her, and Crowley delighted in it, quietly and savagely proud that _she could do this to him no matter which body she was in._ “You want to satisfy that blessed curiosity of yours.” She kissed him again, absolutely sinfully.

Aziraphale kissed her back. “If you’ll just be patient, you wily serpent, I’ll find out what it takes to please you in this body. We have plenty of time after all.”

Well, he was both right and wrong. While it was true that they did have plenty of time, it turned out that Aziraphale didn’t need very much of it at all. Crowley should have known that it would be perfect, no matter what body she was in, as long as she was with Aziraphale. Her patient, sweet, loving, adoring angel who knew the body because he loved the soul.

Later, after they’d both appropriately ravished each other, Crowley rolled over and peered at Aziraphale over the top of her pillow.

“So, um,” she said, a little shyly. “Now that you’ve had a taste of both...Which one do you prefer?”

Aziraphale, still lying half-stunned with a giddy look on his face, just managed to squeak out, “Yes.”

Crowley laughed, and snuggled up close to him. His round, solid body cushioned against hers. She slung one leg over his waist and felt those strong, gentle fingers curl around her thigh. _I think,_ she said to herself just before falling asleep, _I might just stay in this body a little while longer._


End file.
